


Natural

by annabeth



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Language, M/M, Sibling Incest, ignores Conqueror of Shamballa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Edward takes a shower.





	Natural

**Author's Note:**

> Posting more ancient fic. This one was written circa 2006.

“ _Fuck_ ,” came Ed’s voice, muffled but distinctive, out of the bathroom. Al sighed and put a piece of paper between the leaves of his book, and set it on the table beside the chair he was sitting in. His brother had been in the shower for the better part of fifteen minutes; unusual since in the past he could usually get in and out in ten. It was, Al knew, his hair that took the most time to wash, being that it was so long. He stood up and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, knocking on the door.

“Brother?” he said, and when he received no reply, a little louder: “Brother!”

“Al?” His brother’s voice was a little scratchy from the cold he was recovering from—perhaps he was taking so long because the steam made him feel a little better?

“Are you all right?” Al turned the knob and discovered that, unlike usually, the bathroom door was unlocked. Cautiously he stepped into the steam beyond.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Edward said, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded congested, tired, and irritated.

“What’s the problem?” Al persisted. He knew his brother better than that; Edward was often full of bluster—and had such a foul mouth!—but he generally had a reason.

“If you must know,” Edward said, splashing around inside the shower, “it’s fucking _impossible_ to wash my damn hair with an achy arm and no automail.” There was more splashing and some water sloshed onto the floor.

“Well, brother,” Al said, situating himself on the closed toilet lid, “if you’d been more patient, then we could’ve stayed until your arm was ready, instead of travelling all the way home and having to go back and pick it up.”

“You might as well just say it, Al,” Edward said wearily. There was the sound of his automail foot on the tile of the shower.

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Al replied, but he was smiling as he said it. “I told you so,” he said moments later.

“Fuck, Al.” Edward bumped into the shower curtain and for a moment Al could see the shadowed outline of his hip through the flimsy plastic. There was a strange feeling in his throat; it didn’t make any sense. He’d seen Ed without his clothes many times during the course of their search. Why would the glimpse of his naked skin pressed against translucent material make a lump appear in his throat?

Be _practical, Al_ , he told himself sternly. _It’s just Edward. Your_ brother.

“I couldn’t resist, after all,” he said. He pushed on the shower curtain with his hand.

“Fuck!” Edward jumped inside the tub. “I thought I locked the door!”

”It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Al said, and pulled his shirt over his head. He tugged his pyjama pants down and slipped out of his boxers, shivering a little, despite the warm steam. It seemed, in his restored body, that he was always just a little cold. “I’m coming in,” he said, to give his brother warning, then pushed the shower curtain inward. His first look at Edward made something in his chest clench. Without his arm, his brother always seemed so fragile. He couldn’t do alchemy without an array, like he could when he had both hands. And—not that Al would ever say it to him—he looked smaller, more forlorn.

“Goddammit, Al,” Edward said, trying to cover his genitals with his only hand. “I don’t recall asking for an audience.”

“You didn’t ask for my help, either, but you’re going to get it anyway.”

“I don’t _need_ your help,” Ed said, but his hair hung in wet strands over his shoulders and stuck to his face. It was obvious that he hadn’t gotten very far in washing it.

“Yes, you do,” Al said. “I’m just going to wash your hair, so stop complaining. Turn around.” It was funny, Al thought, watching his brother obey—Edward didn’t often do anything he was ordered to do without a fuss, unless it was his little brother telling him to do it. Maybe it was because he felt so guilty about those years in the armour. Or perhaps it was because there wasn’t anyone he loved as much as Al. Whatever the reason, Edward didn’t often argue with Al when Al got that tone of voice and told him to do something.

He gathered up the sopping locks of hair in his two human hands, and wrung some of the water out of them. He combed through it with his fingers, feeling it like a waterfall of damp silk over his hands. Satisfied after a moment, he let it fall against his brother’s back, and reached up onto the shelf where they kept their shampoo. There had been an almost violent argument over the shampoo; Edward wanted his favourite kind, and Al wanted something more inexpensive—money wasn’t easy to come by, even for a State Alchemist—but in the end, they had compromised: instead of using different shampoos, they could just share. So Edward got his way, and they bought the expensive vanilla-cinnamon shampoo.

It took Al some time to get used to smelling rather, well, _female_ , and like his brother to boot, but after awhile he decided it was okay. Squirting a generous amount into his palm, he rubbed his hands together under the spray of the shower, then put his hands on Edward’s scalp and began to massage the lather into his hair. Edward gave a soft little sigh, almost drowned out by the patter of the water, but Al heard it and smiled to himself. Edward didn’t like to admit it, but he loved to have his hair played with, his scalp massaged with gentle fingers. Alphonse had learned that when he was still a suit of armour, and Edward was still a child, writhing on a bed with only one arm and one leg. He’d had feverish dreams, and Al had stroked his metal fingers through his brother’s hair, surprised when it soothed Edward into calmer sleep.

Now, whenever Edward was having trouble sleeping, Al would slip out of his bed and creep into his brother’s room, finger-combing long golden hair, and Edward would quiet down immediately into a deep dreamless sleep. Al wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think Ed remembered any of those times when Al had done that for him, but it didn’t bother him if his brother never knew. It was enough that Alphonse could do something to drive away those dreams, that unease.

Edward seemed to be enjoying the shampoo just as much, because he leaned backward into Al’s touch, and the curve of his ass brushed just _so_ against Al’s front. He didn’t seem to notice, though, for which Al was profoundly glad—Edward had gotten so private since his restoration. He was surprised his brother hadn’t thrown him out of the bathroom. Al worked his fingers down the length of the damp fall of hair, slowly rinsing the soap out, then wringing it out, and starting once again at the base of Ed’s neck, and moving downward, watching the suds as they swirled down the drain. He found himself suddenly staring at Ed’s mismatched feet, and that previous lump in his throat reasserted itself. They’d gotten his body back, but not Edward’s limbs, and he had forbidden Al to try.

_“I won’t have you going near that Gate again, Al. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again.”_ he’d said.

Sadness made him sweep his eyes up, and his gaze landed solidly on Edward’s ass. Something made him swallow reflexively, and that was when he noticed that his newly-restored body was misbehaving again. He was getting aroused. He stepped away from his brother, because if Ed felt _that_ , he was sure to be disgusted and angry. But the truth was, if Al admitted it to himself, his body misbehaved a lot lately. Every time he woke up from some half-remembered dream, every time he caught Edward unaware, looking out the window wistfully, his chin in his hand. Once, he’d asked Edward what it meant, when he was just armour, not flesh, and he’d caught Edward with a hard-on just after he’d awakened. His brother had blushed, and mumbled something about _puberty_ and _natural thing_ , and that was all he’d say.

Al had gotten little more out of Roy, when he’d asked. He felt his face flush under the warm spray of water. He couldn’t believe, now, that he’d ever asked the man such a personal question. In the end, he’d gone to the library and looked it up, so now that he was human again, he knew what it meant. Mostly. He just didn’t know _why_. After a moment, he realised that Edward’s hair was clean and thoroughly rinsed, and he let the long hair fall back against Edward’s naked back. His _beautiful_ naked back.

That was when Al identified the strange emotion clogging his throat. It was _desire_. More than just a simple biological reaction, Alphonse seemed to have displaced his feelings onto his brother. Which just wouldn’t do; not like Edward wasn’t someone desirable, because he _was_. Al swallowed heavily.

“I’m finished,” he said, and was pleased that his voice sounded normal, if just a tad breathless.

“Thanks, Al,” his brother said, and _his_ voice sounded languorous and satisfied. “I guess I should’ve just asked for help in the first place, eh?”

“Definitely, but you’re always so stubborn.” He tried to will his erection away, as Edward began to turn around. He was terrified of what Ed would do if he caught his little brother aroused, while they were both together, naked, in the shower. But when Edward had turned around, he put his hand on Al’s shoulder, and Al realised that his brother’s eyes were closed. _Still_ closed, most likely.

“I know,” he said, and slowly opened his eyes to meet Al’s gaze. “But I just didn’t want you to see me this way.”

_What way?_ Al wondered. _Vulnerable? But I’ve already seen you that way countless times._ And then Edward was leaning forward, brushing a fingertip over Al’s forehead, catching a droplet of water on it and putting it in his mouth. Al could only stare, his breath catching in his throat over and over, his brother so close. _So close. Close enough to kiss,_ Al’s mind registered, just before the warm weight of his brother’s lips landed on his own. And then his eyes were closing, and his arms were wrapping around Edward’s wet, slippery form of their own accord.

They stood like that for long moments, water sluicing over their skin in equal measure, the warmth of it like the feel of Ed’s lips. When his brother brushed his lips upward and away from Al’s face, it was all he could do not to follow, nuzzling into that retreating touch.

“I’m sorry, Al,” Edward said, and he opened his eyes and really _looked_ at his brother for the first time since he’d gotten his body back. Edward looked miserable, and not just from his cold. “God, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Al said, and pressed his erection against his brother. “I’m not.” He didn’t know why he felt this way, or why Edward seemed to reciprocate, but did it even matter? It wasn’t like anyone would ever know.

“Because I shouldn’t—I didn’t— _Fuck_.” Edward jerked out of his arms and away towards the wall. “I cost you _so much_. I shouldn’t put this on you, too.”

“Brother,” Al said, and turned Ed’s face to him with his finger. “I already felt this way.”

Edward gazed at him for a long time, as their skin wrinkled under the onslaught of the shower. After what felt like years passing, every second a knife of fear in Al’s heart, his brother smiled slowly.

“I love you,” he said, and then he was leaning towards him again.

Al didn’t wait; he met him halfway, and their mouths came together like the ocean kisses the shore.

end.


End file.
